


Captain Becker's Deadliest Catch

by ExplodedPen, TheLibranIniquity



Category: Primeval
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExplodedPen/pseuds/ExplodedPen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLibranIniquity/pseuds/TheLibranIniquity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Becker is besieged by people wearing medical scrubs, even though he really, honestly, definitely and absolutely is fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Becker's Deadliest Catch

**Author's Note:**

> This is our explanation of what Becker was up to during his absence from episode 4.05. While this started out as a reasonably comedic piece, there are mentions of/references to domestic violence and we've tried to treat that subject matter seriously.

_“Becker, the anomaly should be ten feet away from you. Nine, eight...”_

_“...Becker? Becker!”_

_“...There's too many of them – let's get in here...”_

_“...I have to pack the wound to stop the venom spreading...”_

_“...Come on mate, wake up... stay with me. Come on...”_

_“...You can't save everyone.”_

Becker wakes up slowly. He can hear the murmur of something in the background but it's garbled, like he's underwater. The whole world is a bright blur and he closes his eyes instinctively, trying to pull back from the assault on his senses.

There's a smell of something sharp in the air, and the ground beneath him is soft and pliable. No, that can't be right. Ground isn't -

“...what the hell you think you were doing, big shot? Fucking Moomins, I just... I know we're supposed to be mates now, but there's a line, a fucking great big line and you don't get to just...”

It's a woman, Becker realises, and she's pissed off. Doesn't sound like his mum though... He twists his head and blinks a couple of times. He makes out a ginger blob about eye level with him, and slowly it – she – starts to come into focus.

“Hilary?”

Hilary Becker sighs. “Oh good, you're awake. I'll go get his Lordship.”

“His Lordship,” Becker repeats.

Hilary pulls a face. “And all his merry little minions. I've been ordered to fetch them as soon as you deigned to wake up. You owe me for this, big time.” She jabs a finger right up in his face and then walks away, muttering under her breath. “Fucking Moomins...”

Becker stares at the empty doorway, then realises where he is. He's lying flat on his back on what doesn't feel like any NHS mattress he's ever spent time on before. His left leg feels cushioned and his head is pounding.

He's in a hospital – but that explains precisely nothing. Hadn't he just been...

“Ah, good, Captain – you're awake.”

Becker blinks a few more times and stares down at the foot of the bed. “Lester?”

“Good to know your powers of observation are up to scratch -” Lester pauses. “- no pun intended, of course.”

“Where am I?”

Lester's face is a picture. “Should I retract that previous statement, or -”

“Which hospital?” Becker clarifies.

“A very good one – irrelevant, of course, compared to the reason you're here.”

Lester looks expectant; Becker stares.

After a few seconds, Lester caves. “I received a phone call late last night from a contact of mine in the emergency services. Something about open wounds, delirium and... cartoon characters.” The last two words are said with clear distaste. “Is there anything you'd like to share with the class, Captain?”

Becker thinks about this for a second, and tries to piece the memories of last night together. “I went to buy milk,” he says, and waves a hand at the rest of the room. “Obviously, I didn't make it home.”

“On the contrary, you _did_ make it home,” Lester replies. “Your... charming neighbour found you in a rather compromised state outside your front door.”

“Let me guess,” Becker replies without thinking. “Open wounds and delirium.”

“You forgot the cartoon characters.” Lester's tone suggests he'd rather be the one doing the forgetting. “Still, you've undergone actual medical treatment as opposed to what you deemed necessary from the on-base medics. So I suppose you'll live. However, it would be in your best interests to follow doctor's orders until they deem you fit to go home – unless you're planning to obtain a medical degree during your stay here.”

“Didn't know you cared.”

Lester gives him a funny look, and Becker has the sneaking suspicion he said that bit out loud. “Don't flatter yourself – I'm only here to make sure you haven't made a song and dance out of your day job.”

Seemingly satisfied with his own wit, Lester turns on his heels and leaves.

A few seconds later his spot at the end of the bed is filled by a nurse, who picks up and studies Becker's chart before smiling up at him. “It's good to see you're awake,” she tells him. “I haven't seen a bite this nasty in a while. How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine,” Becker replies.

“Uh huh, sure.” The nurse eyeballs him. “You want to try that one again with more than a passing acquaintance with the truth?”

“It's just a bite,” Becker says – because that's true – and then adds: “I've had worse.” That's true as well.

“If you say so, Mr Becker.” The nurse doesn't look convinced.

“What – exactly – happened to me?” Becker asks, because there's a better chance of a straight answer from her.

She pauses, then says: “You were brought in with a seeping leg wound, what looked like an animal bite. We ran some blood panels, cleaned and redressed the wound and took an X-ray of the leg to check there wasn't any further damage.”

“Is there?” Becker interrupts. “Further damage?”

“Not this time,” the nurse says, and there's an odd look on her face that Becker can't decipher. “I think your girlfriend's waiting to -”

She's interrupted by Matt bursting through the door, making a beeline for the bed. “Becker? Are you all right? Lester said you'd -”

He breaks off, and the nurse chips in with a knowing nod. “Ahh, I see. Don't tire him out,” she tells Matt, then says to Becker: “The doctor will be in shortly to check on you.” And with that, she leaves.

Matt waits for her to leave, but doesn't take his eyes off Becker. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demands quietly. “You were supposed to go home and take it easy.”

“I did,” Becker replies just as quietly. “But then I ran out of milk.” It makes perfect sense to him but then again, Matt is a coffee drinker.

“You could have said anything,” Matt counters.

“To who? Hilary?” Becker waits for Matt to nod. “She's my neighbour. She's my _friend_.” He says it like it should be enough – because it is, to him. He's getting tired of this – he's been awake for less than ten minutes having lost god knows how long, and already three people have yelled at him and only one has actually been nice. And that's only because it's in her job description.

“She's not the only one,” Matt says. “There's the paramedics, everyone in A&E – what if you'd said something that compromised us?”

“But I didn't.”

“But you could have.”

“But I didn't.” Becker can do this all day if he has to – he's got a sister. Though maybe he'd need a nap break every now and again – he really does have a headache, and it doesn't feel like it's going away.

“So we got lucky this time.” Matt sounds far from convinced. “You said you were okay, that it wasn't that bad.”

Well, clearly he'd been wrong. “I didn't know you cared,” Becker says eventually. He knows he's repeating himself, but Matt doesn't know that.

Matt's expression verges on pained. “You should have said something. I could have taken you home.”

“To do what? Fluff my pillows and play nursemaid?” Becker pulls a face. “I was fine when I left.” All right, so maybe his leg had been throbbing from when Jess had accidentally kneed him, and it was possible the two-storey climb to his flat hadn't helped matters either... or the walk to and from the corner shop for milk... but he'd felt fine otherwise. 

He didn't now, of course – but that was clearly why he was in hospital. 

“Uh huh.” Matt looks no more convinced than the nurse had. “Look, I've got to get back. I promised I'd let Connor and Abby know you were okay.”

“Tell them I'm fine,” Becker says, shifting position on the bed. “It's not as bad as it looks.”

“Becker, you're in _hospital_.”

“I didn't die.”

Matt sighs. “I'll see you later.” For a moment Becker thinks the other man is going to actually initiate physical contact, but Matt steps back from the bed, nods awkwardly and then leaves.

Becker takes a few deep breaths, suddenly exhausted. Just as he starts to drift off into sleep he hears a voice, quiet but still clear.

“So it's not terminal, then?”

Hilary's back, and Becker mumbles something at her that might not even be proper words, but it doesn't seem to matter.

“Payback, mister.” And after a little while: “Fucking Moomins.”

She doesn't say anything else, and Becker takes advantage of the silence to fall asleep.

He wakes to a throbbing pain in his leg, a budding migraine and an angel by his bedside wearing medical scrubs and injecting something into his IV. He flashes his most charming grin. “Hello, beautiful.”

The male nurse barely bats an eyelid. “And good evening to you too,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

“I ache,” Becker tells him, even as a pleasant numbness starts to wash over him. “But whatever that is -” He gestures at the IV. “- that is great.”

“That's the idea.” The nurse switches his attention to the monitors hanging over Becker's bed. “Anything else?”

“Like what?”

The nurse makes a few notes on Becker's chart. “Dizziness, disorientation, memory gaps, feeling feverish, hiccups -”

“Hiccups?”

The nurse grins. “Still tracking then, I thought you might have switched off.”

Becker snorts. “No chance of that,” he says, flashes of the school running through his head. “I'm a bit stiff, though. Can I get up, move around or something?”

“The doctor wants you to stay put for now,” the nurse replies.

“Can I at least raise the bed head up?” Becker asks.

“That you can do.” The nurse helps him find the control on the side of the frame. “Easy does it...”

After a few seconds Becker is partially sat up – what feels like his biggest accomplishment of the day. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” The nurse points at the call button on the bed control. “Let us know if you need anything else.”

“Yeah, okay.” The nurse leaves, and Becker starts to doze again, helped along by the drugs.

He thinks he might be asleep when the urge to urinate becomes too powerful to ignore. He rouses himself reluctantly and stares between the call button and the private en-suite he can see in the right hand corner of the room. Five feet away at best. He can manage that.

Becker eases his leg off its cushion and lowers both legs over the side of the bed. He manages to put both feet on the floor just in time for -

“Becker! How're you – should you be doing that?”

Becker doesn't look up from the floor. “I'm fine, Connor.”

“That's what you said earlier,” Matt says, revealing himself. “And you didn't look like you were going to throw up then.”

“You're not, are you?” Connor asks. “I don't do sick.”

Becker finally lifts his head up to look at Connor. “I'm not going to be sick.”

Connor relaxes fractionally. “So that look on your face is you practising being happy, then?”

“You'd better not being trying to leave,” Matt cuts in. “I haven't heard anything about a discharge order.”

Becker points at the door that doesn't lead out into the corridor. “I need to go,” he replies.

“What are you... oh.” Connor steps forward. “Do you need a hand?”

“Just to get over there,” Becker warns him. He lets Connor hook an arm around him and tries not to wince when something in his back pulls. They start shuffling, small steps across the linoleum, when Connor glances back and stops dead.

“Were those there the whole time?” he asks.

“Were what?” Becker twists his neck to try and see what Connor's gawping at, but Matt gets there first, pushing at the hospital gown to see the skin underneath.

“That doesn't look healthy, mate,” Connor comments.

“What is it?” Becker struggles under Matt's grip. “What doesn't look healthy?”

“Did one of those creatures push you down?” Matt asks carefully. “At the school.”

Becker frowns. “I think so,” he says. His memory is still a little fuzzy. “Why?”

“Because if I didn't know any better, I'd say one of them left claw prints on your shoulders.”

“What?” Becker thinks about it, and fights the urge to get a mirror. “It's just bruising.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, “but it looks painful.”

Becker tests his shoulders. He can feel the sore spots and the heat of Matt's hands, but nothing else. “It's not that bad.”

Someone chooses that moment to stick their head around the door. “Is everything all right in here, Mr Becker, I thought I heard – oh.”

It's a new nurse – Becker seems to be gathering quite the collection – and her eyes are wide as she takes in the scene in front of her.

Matt pulls his hands off Becker's shoulders instantly. Connor takes a step back. Becker wonders what the hell they're acting so guilty about when Connor says loudly: “He insisted on going to the toilet.”

“You should have hit the call button,” the nurse admonishes. She comes over to Becker and starts to straighten his gown. “Come on, the last thing you want is to break your stitches again.” She puts her arm around Becker to support him, but the sudden pressure on the bruises makes him wince – which she notices immediately. “I'm sorry, did I hit a sore spot?”

“It's nothing,” Becker says automatically. 

“Hmm.” The nurse pulls at the edges of his gown. “Did this happen at the same time as you were -” Her hands come to a still on his back.

Something's going on behind him, probably between Matt and the nurse going by the confused look on Connor's face, but Becker can't tell what it is.

“Look,” he says, “it's nothing. I fell.” It sounds weak, even to him, but he can't exactly tell a civilian nurse that he'd been groped by a dinosaur.

“I see,” the nurse says carefully. Then: “Well, seeing as you made it this far, how about we get you the rest of the way to the bathroom, Mr Becker?”

Yeah, he's good with that. Becker lets himself be guided into the bathroom and shuts the door with the nurse on the other side. He can almost hear the awkward silence, but when he comes out the nurse is all business. She gets him back to the bed, helps him reposition his injured leg on its support and continues to fuss over him while addressing Matt and Connor. “I think it would be a good idea for Mr Becker to get some rest.”

“But we just got here,” Connor protests.

The nurse fixes him with a glare. “He's had quite enough excitement for one day, don't you think? The last thing he needs is to aggravate his injury.”

“All right, all right.” Connor holds his hands up with a grin. “We'll see you later, mate,” he tells Becker.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Look after yourself.”

They both leave before the nurse can say anything else. 

“I just want to check your leg again,” she tells Becker, pulling the hem of the gown above his wound. “Just to make sure you haven't pulled any of the stitches.”

Her hands are cool on his thigh. “I don't think I did,” Becker says.

“No, it looks like you're right. Do you want me to lay the bed down?”

“No, it's fine like this.”

“Okay.” She checks his chart, and takes a look at the monitors. “The doctor will be along shortly – try to get some rest, Mr Becker.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Becker's tempted to salute as well, but she doesn't look like she'd appreciate it.

True enough, the doctor finally puts in an appearance not long after the nurse disappears, and he looks apologetic from the foot of Becker's bed. “Mr Becker, my apologies for not being able to see you sooner.”

“It's fine,” Becker grunts. Whatever this place is costing the ARC, it has to be extortionate for this kind of revolving door service.

“I've had a look at your blood test results,” the doctor says, “and checked on your progress with the nurses, and I'm afraid the original antibiotics aren't doing the job quite as well as we'd hoped.”

Becker frowns. “So what does that mean?”

“I'm going to start you on a stronger course of drugs,” the doctor explains. “Hopefully that will bring the infection under control, and your temperature down.”

He's had a fever? ...That explains why he hasn't been able to shake the headache and lethargy, and why there's been a nurse hovering over him every ten seconds.

“But I feel fine,” he insists.

The doctor's not having any of it, though. “Fine is a relative term, Mr Becker. You won't be discharged from our care until I believe it's safe for you to return home.” He checks the chart again. “I see Nurse Bampton noted some bruising had come up on your shoulder blades. If you'd just like to lean forward for a second...”

Actually, he wouldn't, but Becker's pretty sure he doesn't have a choice in the matter. The doctor is surprisingly gentle as he inspects Becker's back, but he can't suppress the wince when he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

“These look like hand prints,” the doctor observes.

Becker tenses subconsciously. “It's nothing. I must have fallen on something when I got bitten.”

“In which case you'd have hit your head as well.” The doctor's hands stay where they are. “There's no evidence of head trauma anywhere on your chart, though.” His tone is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of something like he's not going to let this go easily.

“It really is nothing,” Becker insists. “It must have happened when I was bitten. I don't remember exactly what happened.”

“I see. Well.” The doctor lets Becker lie back against the mattress again and steps back from the bed. “There's no shame in admitting it, you know.”

Becker thinks he knows – finally – what the doctor's hinting at. “I wasn't pushed.”

The doctor just looks at him. “If you change your mind, there are people you can talk to,” he says, then waits. When Becker says nothing, he adds: “I'll be back in the morning to check on you. Goodnight, Mr Becker.”

“Goodnight,” Becker replies automatically. He's not sure what to make of the insinuation that he's being beaten – and by who he has no idea – and it's enough to unsettle him long after the doctor's left and the lights in his room dim automatically. That has to mean a change to the night shift – which means he's been in and out of it for far longer than he thought, though whether that's from the injury or the drugs he has no idea.

It's a while before he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, it's light outside – and he's alone. Actually, totally, blissfully _on his own_. The only thing that could improve this recent development would be waking up in his own bed. Still, being awake, alone and able to enjoy the silence without interruption is worth it, no matter where he is.

He takes stock of his surroundings. The IV drip and monitors are all in the same places, and still hooked up to him. Even his leg is still intact, and Becker thinks the skin around the dressing isn't as red as it had been, but he's not sure. He remembers the third nurse and doctor's examinations of the bruises on his shoulders, but he still can't quite twist his neck enough to see them for himself.

The aborted movement hurts like hell, though, and it's while Becker's rubbing the back of his neck that he sees a pale yellow piece of paper on the bedside table, just within reach. He picks it up and examines it, then promptly feels his ears start to burn.

It's a domestic violence pamphlet – specifically it's one directed at male victims of domestic violence and for a few seconds Becker can't figure out what it's doing in his room, so very obviously positioned for him to see.

Then he remembers the nurse and doctor's reactions to the bruises – the bruises that had been made by a dinosaur body-slamming him. Apparently their insinuations had been more than just that, and somehow Becker doesn't think any further protests will be taken particularly well.

After all, he realises with ears that are practically infernos and a sinking feeling in his stomach, he's ticked pretty much every box of a 'typical' abuse victim since being in this... place. 

See, none of this would've happened if he'd just been allowed to stay at home. Pass out outside your front door for a split second and suddenly everyone's overreacting. If he hadn't been brought here, then he wouldn't have to gloss over anything because no one treating him had clearance. 

That, and 'I got pushed down and chomped on by a very angry dinosaur' sounds more than a little crazy. It does to him, and he'd been there.

Still.

He looks down and realises he's been playing with the pamphlet, turning it over in his hands and smoothing down the creases. He puts it back on the table, exactly how he'd found it. He's not abused, not in any way except for the odd prehistoric creature who thinks he's on the menu and the odd colleague who thinks he's an acceptable target for experimental weapons. Oh, and it'd be nice if they listened to him every once in a while. After all, it's not as if he's an experienced ex-Special Forces soldier with... oh wait, he is.

Pfft.

He shifts his position on the bed and stares at the door. Yesterday he could hardly move for visitors and today... nothing. It's not that he wants them to visit, but his colleagues do often remind him of small children – it's when he can't hear them that he knows he has to worry. Still, as long as they've got backup with them, they should be fine.

He can hope, anyway.

At around lunchtime Nurse #1 comes in, a cheery smile on her face. “And how are you feeling today, Mr Becker?”

“Absolutely fine,” Becker replies. “In fact, I think I'm ready to go home.”

“Hold your horses, Mister,” the nurse laughs. “That's a decision for the professionals, don't you think?”

Becker's sorely tempted to ask for a definition of 'professionals' – he knows his own body and its limits better than anyone else, spilt pints of milk and sadistic neighbours aside – but he keeps that question to himself, and instead asks: “So, do you think I'm ready to go home?”

The nurse doesn't miss a beat. “Not just yet.”

Becker sighs.

“It's not as if you're going to be in here forever,” the nurse continues, eyeing Becker. “Just another day or two at the most.”

That was as good as forever, considering the team's capability for attracting trouble, monsters and everything in between. Idly, Becker wonders how much Lester's slipping the nursing staff to keep him here against his will, and whether it's coming out of his salary. If he is, then probably.

“No visitors today?” the nurse asks.

“Hmm? Probably working. We get busy periods,” Becker says carefully.

“I know that feeling – you should see this place New Year's Eve.” The nurse grins and Becker has the sudden, uneasy feeling that maybe she's trying to flirt with him.

She picks up his chart and starts making notes. Routine checks, he thinks, all his nurses seem to be following a similar SOP. “Is the new drug regimen working?” he asks.

The nurse considers this for a while, looking between the chart and the monitors a few times, and then nods. “It seems to be, yes. I'd say you're doing pretty well.”

“But let me guess,” Becker says, “you'll have to check with the doctor before telling me whether I can leave soon or not.”

“Now you've got the right idea – someone will be back to check on you in a bit.”

Becker's sure they wouldn't have it any other way. He takes advantage of the fresh peace and quiet – and continuing lack of ARC personnel – to have another nap...

...and wakes up to a face two inches from his, eyes narrowed and -

“Jess?”

“Becker!” she exclaims at the same time. “You're awake!”

“I am now.” Becker slowly pulls back, and is gratified when she does the same, actually sitting in a chair that had been pulled right up to the side of the bed. His pulse is loud and fast and it takes a few tries to get his breathing back to normal.

“Sorry, I didn't – I mean, you looked too sound asleep – I didn't think you -”

“Trained soldier, Jess,” Becker interrupts. She's lucky he doesn't have a weapon within reach, but he doesn't think she'd want to know that.

“Oh, yes, obviously,” she nods, still smiling. “How are you feeling? I mean, I saw you on the monitor, and -”

_Hands brush over his face and pulse points, fast and frantic. “Come on... he's still brea – Jess, he's still with us, get us medics – now!”_

“I'm fine,” Becker says firmly. “Just ignore what everyone else has been telling you.”

She just looks at him, wide-eyed. “Nobody's told me anything, other than you were brought here and being treated properly.” Her jaw hangs open a little. “I didn't – I mean, when I -” She points at the dressings on his leg.

“That wasn't you,” he tells her. “It's not your fault.” Okay, maybe a little, but not completely. 

It's enough to make her relax, though, which was the point, and it's promptly followed by a particularly awkward silence, Jess unable to take her eyes off the location of the bite mark and Becker wishing he was capable of small talk whilst under the influence of drugs.

“So, what have you been up to?” He promptly starts mentally banging his head on a brick wall.

“Oh.” Jess frowns. “The nurse at the station told me I wasn't to – cause you undue stress,” she recites.

Becker rolls his eyes. “They're paid to say that – just tell me what's been happening.” Because there have been things happening, he can tell just from the way she's trying not to answer him now.

Jess sighs theatrically. “Okay, you got it out of me. Matt, Connor and Abby went after the Witchfield Worm.”

“The Witchfield -” Becker tries not to groan. “Please tell me they took backup with them.”

Jess' silence speaks volumes.

Becker can feel his blood pressure climbing. He's going to kill them – he's going to club them over the head with a bloody EMD and screw the consequences.

“Er, Becker?”

“What?”

“You... you'd really club them to death with one of the EMDs?”

Becker promptly starts beating his head against that metaphorical wall again. “No?”

“They're fine, I mean Abby crashed the car a little bit and Connor got hit in the head -”

Again? Becker's going to instigate helmets as standard mission kit as soon as he gets out of here.

“- and Matt took off after Ethan after he kidnapped Emily – but they're all okay, it's all under control.” She smiles brightly. “They're all fine.” 

They'd said that about Mr Tiddles. Becker had loved that cat.

“Right.” He pushes himself upright, unhooking the IV drip at the same time, and starts to move his legs over the side of the bed. He pulls a shirt from the chair next to Jess' and puts it on without wincing once.

“Whoa, wait – Becker, what are you doing?”

“Getting out of here.” It's getting ridiculous now – how is Becker supposed to stay cooped up in some cushy hospital suite when Matt and the others go gallivanting off head first into danger _without backup_ and without so much as a courtesy call to him first? And they'd been in here the night before, acting all concerned about his well-being. He'd feel a little betrayed, if he went in for that sort of drama. Which he doesn't. Ever.

He realises the thought process he's just completed, and grins. He is definitely ready to get out of here.

“Becker?” Jess has her most concerned face on now. “I really don't think you should be doing this.”

Well, he does. “Where are my shoes?”

“Over here.” Jess winces. “I mean – nowhere you should be able to get to them without a proper medical discharge.”

“Nice try, Jessica.” Becker holds his hand out.

Jess caves instantly. “Lester will have my head for this.”

“No, he won't.” Becker catches her doubtful expression. “I thought you were irreplaceable.”

“Well, yes, but he's -” Jess makes quotation marks with her fingers. “- 'sick to the back teeth of not being listened to'. He wants you in here until you're better.”

Becker slowly pushes himself into a standing position and reaches for his trousers. “I am better.”

“I'm getting someone.” Jess disappears, and comes back twenty seconds later with the doctor in a death grip. 

“Ah, Mr Becker, I thought this might concern you, somehow.” The doctor eyes Becker's partially-dressed state and his own death grip on the bed frame. “Feeling better, are we?”

“I need to go home,” Becker says patiently.

“Hmm.” The doctor eyes him for a few seconds. Then he backs up to the far side of the room. “Walk over here, without holding onto something, stumbling or falling over. Then we'll talk about going home.”

Fair enough. Becker holds up a single finger, then sits back down on the bed so he can get the trousers on. One step closer to being properly dressed, he gets back up and takes a step towards the doctor. He tests the weight on his injured leg, and quickly figures out a way of putting the least amount of pressure on the damaged muscles.

Seven not entirely pain-free steps later, he's crowding into the doctor's personal space. “How did I do?” he asks.

“If I didn't know better I'd say you were drunk,” the doctor admits, “but under the circumstances that is remarkable.”

“He's ex-Special Forces,” Jess says helpfully.

“Well, that explains a lot,” the doctor replies with a slight smile. Then, to Becker: “If you're absolutely sure -”

“I know my limits,” Becker interrupts. “I just need to be at home. Please.”

The doctor slips around Becker to pick up his chart and examines the last few pages carefully. “Your fever went down overnight, and you don't seem to be suffering any adverse reactions to the leg wound or to the drugs you've been given.”

That sounds good. Becker makes himself wait for the catch.

“I'll write you a prescription,” the doctor tells him. “But no driving, or -”

“I'll drive you home,” Jess says brightly.

“There,” Becker tells the doctor. “I've got a lift home, and everything.”

“So you do.” The doctor nods. “Wait here, I'll get the prescription and papers sorted.”

Becker nods, his politest and most bland expression pasted onto his face. Then, as soon as the doctor leaves the room, he goes back over and sinks heavily onto the bed.

Jess looks amused. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”

Becker flips her a half-hearted salute.

A few minutes later the doctor reappears, and makes Becker sign a truly terrifying number of forms and pages before he's allowed to leave. “Rest and meds, Mr Becker.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Becker nods solemnly. Behind him he can hear Jess trying not to giggle.

Before he leaves, though, Becker snatches up the domestic violence pamphlet, hiding the cover from Jess, and makes her wait a bit further down the corridor while he looks for one of 'his' nurses.

Nurse #3 – Bampton, he thinks her name is? – is chatting to another nurse behind the station, but looks up as he gets closer.

He hands her the pamphlet. “I think you left this in my room,” he says, and before she can say anything quickly adds: “I genuinely appreciate your concern, but in this case it really isn't what it looks like. My job – it's dangerous.”

She takes the pamphlet, but doesn't look convinced. “Maybe you should find a new job,” she tells him quietly.

“It has its moments, but I wouldn't change it. Not for anything. But thank you – I mean that.”

Before he or the nurse can say or do anything else, Becker turns smartly and walks slowly towards where his brightly-clad colleague is waiting for him. She grins as he maintains his balance, and hooks an arm into his. 

All the way down to the car park Jess regales him with extra details of what he'd missed at the ARC over the last two days, more than he probably needs to know, but he doesn't let on. And when she realises that he lives in a second-floor flat, she insists on escorting him up to his front door, and Becker genuinely doesn't have the energy to argue.

He feels a distinct sense of relief as he puts his key in the door and motions Jess down the stairs. A few moments later he has the kettle on the boil – and notices a carton of long-life milk on the counter, with a Post-it stuck to the side. _You still owe me_ , it reads, and he smiles.

Tea made, Becker heads into the living room and all but collapses onto the sofa, careful to keep his injured leg elevated, at least for now. He's about to grab the nearest paperback and properly settle in for whatever's left of his evening when he sees the flashing light on the front of the television.

He frowns. He doesn't remember leaving the telly on standby, and looks around for the remote. As soon as he hits the power button the screen explodes with bright colours and loud sounds and -

_“The Moomins are attacking and they're organised – they're in bloody formation and we have to get out of here and -”_

_“...Fucking Moomins. Come on, sunshine, ambulance is on its way.”_

Becker does not scream. He refuses to scream, yelp, or even whimper. Instead he turns the television and the evil, evil cartoon off and leans back on the sofa so he can stare up at the ceiling – directly underneath his evil namesake's residence – and start plotting an elaborate form of revenge.

He's asleep before he can plan his first manoeuvre.


End file.
